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Rh on the matter—a serious enough one, Heaven knows!—whether or not to become the confederate of a rat d'hôtel. But the thought of poor little Ella, and also of the probable profit which would accrue, decided me. Besides, if I did tell what I knew I was stranded, almost penniless, in a foreign country.

"All right—I'll do what I can," I answered, just as Rowe returned with the waiters. He hadn't wasted any time, and, evidently suspecting Featherson, did not intend to lose sight of him. I ran to meet him. "I am just going to get a little brandy, Mr. Featherson is feeling queer," I exclaimed as I passed the trio.

But I noticed that Rowe turned and looked at me with evident suspicion.

I reached Ella's door panting and short of breath, and when she answered my knock I noticed that her eyes were red and tearful.

"What is it?" she whispered hoarsely. "Have they found out?"

"Found out what?"

"That he—that my father stole the jewels?" she gasped.

"No, no," I said. "But what do you know?"

"I saw him coming from the woman's room," she interrupted, her face ghastly white.